


Finding Home

by Wild_Roses



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wild_Roses/pseuds/Wild_Roses
Summary: The story of how Numair meets our favourite Tortallans and finds a home





	1. George

George was on good terms with the Rogues of Tortall’s major cities. Port Caynn’s in particular, being as it was so close to Pirate’s Swoop. Jon, thankfully, had a good understanding of the need for any society to have a certain level of lawlessness, and that when given their due respect the Rogues would, for the most part, have loyalty to the nation.

When George had received a report about a new player in Port Caynn, one with an easy smile and eyes like a wary rabbit, he had determined it was worth his time to scout out the young man. He had then returned home and suggested to Alanna that they take a weekend trip to the city.

Standing in the sun of a dusty street now, his hand against the small of his wife’s back, he slipped his hand down to squeeze her bum. Her simple, deep blue dress was especially stunning. She elbowed him sharply. He, neglecting propriety, didn’t so much as flinch, rather leaning in to whisper to her.

“Grab hold of your ember stone and _look_ at the boy.”

Alanna did as she was told, jaw unhinging for a moment before she snapped it closed with a click. “Goddess bless,” she whispered through her teeth.

“Lad’s got more power than Thom had, even.”

“He’s been well trained, too,” Alanna noted, grateful that the young man was doing something worthy of staring. She could hardly tear her eyes away as he juggled a set of razor sharp knives.

“I suspect he is a certain mage on the wrong side of the young Emperor of Carthak. Some nineteen years of age. Black Robe.”

“Goddess bless,” Alanna repeated, a numb blankness enveloping her features.

“We cannot just leave him here,” George noted casually.

“No.”

“So what’s to do?”

Alanna’s face resolved into that determined look that George had always fancied. “Leave it to me.” 

She reached out and grabbed the arm of a young boy who was chasing his siblings, dragging him towards the wall they leaned against. “A silver noble for you and your friends if you happen to knock into that man across the street doing the juggling.” The boy nodded eagerly and she handed the coin over, turning her attention back to the juggler. He appeared to be Tyran, silky black locks chopped unevenly around his chin, far from the current fashion. His clothes were grubby and his face sunken. As if wanting to hide despite his height and occupation, his shoulders were hunched inwards.

The young urchin slammed unforgivably into his side, begged for forgiveness then whipped away down the street. The juggler hissed in pain as his knifes clattered to the ground around him, one of them slicing the meat of his palm on its way down.

Alanna gave George a look that was clearly an instruction to stay put and strode across the street.

“I’ve been admiring your skill lad,” she said as she approached the juggler, “I’m a healer. May I help you?”

His eyes widened somewhat and he attempted to back a step away, “It’s not too bad, missus. I’ll be just fine. Thank you, though.” He attempted to bow slightly as he retreated.

More sharply, Alanna grabbed his wrist and said, “Nonsense. This will at best leave a significant scar, at worst you’ll get infected and lose the whole hand. That would be a shame, with your talents.”

George leaned unconcernedly against the wall, occasionally losing sight of the pair as other people bustled by. The young man was clearly not enjoying the attention he was receiving, but submitted to Alanna’s ministrations. It was interesting that he appeared to be trying to speak in a less sophisticated version of common.

“Now, should I leave just a little scar?” Alanna teased, “something to speak to your battle-testedness?”

“Without if you’re so kind missus.”

“Call me missus one more time…” she let the threat hang. “There, all patched up. Now you must let me and my husband,” she waved loosely in George’s direction, “take you for a good meal.”

“I couldn’t, miss.”

Alanna narrowed her eyes. “Healer’s orders. We’re just at a boarding house nearby that serves the best venison. Healing requires some good nutritional backing, and you, lad, look as though you’ve been near starving.”

The juggler stared at Alanna for a long time, then looked towards George. Finally, he sighed softly and crouched down. “Alright,” he agreed, slipping his knives into their roll and tying it before slipping it into the pocket of a cloak he’d laid on the ground to collect coins. He scooped the handful of coins up and with a twist of his hand they disappeared.

George quirked a brow as he walked over. Impressive sleight of hand. The lad had skill in line with some of the more talented pick pockets of Corus.

“Anyhow,” George said, “we never paid you for the wonderful entertainment you’ve provided. Dinner can be en lieu of that. I’m George, this is Alanna.”

“Numair,” the boy replied softly.

*~*~*~*~*


	2. Arram

Arram’s stomach rumbled as they entered the boarding home’s dining room. The scent of spices and cooking fats was nearly sensual. He’d been eating nothing but what a copper or two could get him at a street vendor’s cart for the past weeks. Prior to that, he’d been hidden at the bottom of a sea vessel wishing he could survive without a stomach at all. 

He followed the couple who had so persuasively taken him under their wings and glanced around for escape routes if needed. He was a looby, certainly, agreeing to this meal. Who knew who the couple were, or how they made the coin for their fine clothes. George’s hazel eyes were deep with wisdom and understanding to a degree that made Arram internally squirm. Alanna’s violet eyes screamed of one who was God-touched, with an undercurrent of fierce determination, and Arram was fairly certain he wanted nothing to do with any of the Gods anymore. The both of them though, held a degree of honesty in their eyes that made it hard for Arram to turn away. It had been some time since he’d felt himself to be in the company of anyone honest. 

As the three of them slipped into seats around a table tucked into a quiet corner, a plump and jovial woman came to greet them. “ My lady,” she nodded to Alanna before turning to wink at her husband, “George, you scoundrel. And a friend?”

“This is Numair,” George replied smoothly, “He’s a player Alanna just did a spot of healing on. Of course, healing must be followed up with some of your finest drink and food Annie.”

“Of course dears, I’ll be back with a bottle.”

Arram’s mind raced. _My lady?_

With a chuckle George whispered, “Alanna is also known as Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau.” 

Arram’s stomach dropped. “The Lioness,” he whispered desperately.

“Calm yourself boy. I’m no different than anyone else,” Alanna said sharply. 

For a moment it felt that the candlelit was flickering along with Arram’s feeble pulse in the dim room.

“So you,” he turned to George feeling faint, “are the Baron of Pirate’s Swoop?” Arram didn’t finish his thought, which was ‘ _and former King of Thieves in Tortall?_ ’

The twinkle in George’s eyes spoke to his awareness of Arram’s full understanding. “Indeed!”

Arram stood abruptly, holding the edges of the table. “Well, thank you both for your kindness. I must be off.”

He weaved unsteadily through the tables to emerge in the late afternoon sun. Then he collapsed. 

 

When he woke, it was in a bed. That was something he had not experienced in quite some time. The room smelt of beeswax and lemongrass and sun was snaking in through the shutters. By the quality of it, Arram guessed it to be morning.

“Lad, you’re awake!” George shifted to sit more upright in a wicker chair next to the bed. “Alanna’s just out for some rolls and fruit to make up for your missed dinner last evening.” 

“I… I need to go. Thank you, though.” Arram was aware his level of fright was writ across his features.

“Lad,” George heaved a sigh. “We’re not going to take your prisoner. You’re not doing well on your own though.”

Arram scowled, “I’m doing well enough.”

The Lioness, with the timing of an expert player walked in at that moment, “Ah! You’re up. Eat!” She dropped a bundle of rolls filled with meat and cheese on his lap. Arram waited.

George gave him a knowing smile and took a roll, biting into it so Arram could see they were clean.

“Oh for the sake of the Gods above,” Alanna muttered darkly.

“Alanna, cut the lad some slack, would you? It’s clearly not been an easy time for him.”

Picking up a roll, Arram gave it a sniff before virtually inhaling the whole thing and grabbing a second. Alanna flung open the shutters and turned back to the men. 

“I’m going to use a touch of magic, just to block anyone from listening to us. Is that alright?”

Arram squirmed a little, before nodding. Alright. If he needed to, he was certain that he could get out of here regardless.

“So, Numair,” George leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees. “I think we’d best be honest, here. We know who you are.”

Arram’s response was involuntary. The sort of response a wild animal pinned amongst predators would have. His magic flowed out, enveloping his figure, flickering in an aura of power that appeared to nearly blind George, who covered his eyes.

“George has got the sight,” Alanna informed Arram in a calm and conversational tone.

“Couldja turn it down, lad?”

Arram took a deep, shuddering breath, and forced his magic under control. He allowed a little to remain outside his core, outlining the edges of his frame. For ease of use and to remind those in his company of his abilities.

“We are not planning to turn you over to that slimy little snake,” George said.

“No,” Alanna seconded.

“So what do you want?” Arram asked, wishing he could have managed to do so without a waver in his voice. 

“To help,” Alanna shrugged.

“She’s got a bit of a hero’s complex, if you hadn’t heard,” George teased, catching the bit of roll Alanna flung in retaliation in his mouth and making dramatic noises of enjoyment. 

Arram couldn’t help but let the corner of his lips quirk up at that. “Well I’m terribly sorry but my reserves on trust are rather low at the moment. And anyways, I can’t imagine there’s really much you could do to help.”

“We’ve got friends in powerful places,” Alanna offered. 

Staring down at his lap, Arram replied, “That’s what I’d prefer to be avoiding at the moment, my lady.”

“That’s even worse than missus, Arram.”

Jaw tight and eyes wide, he looked up at her, “Please don’t call me that. Not even with…” he waved his hand towards the slight glimmer that gave away her wards.

“Alright. Alright. I’m sorry, Numair.”

“Listen Numair,” George said. “We’ve a son at home. He’s four. Brimming with more raw gift than most anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s a little frightening, to be honest. We’ve had four nursemaids quit in the last year. He needs a tutor. Mayhap, we don’t tell any of our friends about you, but hire you to teach the lad." 

Arram glanced towards Alanna, noting the fiery look in her eyes. She had no intention of letting him slip into anonymity with no care for his personal safety or health.

“We can keep you safe,” she said softly. “There’s few things I hate more than a corrupt ruler. If what we’ve heard is true…” 

Arram had enjoyed mentoring younger students at the university. He certainly had enjoyed regular meals and a soft bed. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be safe.

“We’ll pay you, of course. At the least, it’ll give you some time to save up coin, feed yourself up a little before you go roaming again,” George added. 

“Alright.” Arram nodded, looking between the two. “For a time.”

 

 *~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flexed the timeline for Thom's age a little to make the story work :) Thank for your patience with the updates. Should be able to get the last couple of chapters out within the next couple of weeks though!


	3. Alanna

Alanna had known this would happen. With Jon set for a visit in the morning, Numair was on his way out the door. Over the past weeks, he’d gained some weight and bought some nicer clothing. Thom had fallen absolutely in love with him.

George had told Alanna time and again to let Numair choose his own path. Whenever she suggested connecting him with Master Si-Cham, or demanded George have a talk with him about staying with them permanently, George would just gently shake his head.

But Alanna would be damned if she let him slip out in the middle of the night like this. She cleared her throat loudly as Numair’s sock feet stepped off the lowest step and into the entry hall. He whirled around with a guilty look as Alanna stepped into the moonlight so he could see her.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Alanna…”

“Numair?” 

He pursed his lips, agitated. “You can’t stop me.”

“I _know_ I can’t stop you, you dolt.”

“So what precisely do you think you’re doing at this moment?”

Alanna began to pace. Numair turned to keep her in sight.

It was just so aggravating, she thought. Alanna wouldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for young men who had too much power to know what to do with it. Growing up amongst Jon, George, Gary, Raoul… she’d taken care of them and they’d taken care of her. She’d left Thom to pick up her unofficial duties and the way it ended… Well, it was at least partially her fault. And now, this young man who was so like Thom in so many ways was going to sneak away in the middle of the night and just disappear. It was unacceptable. Of course, while his intelligence, his gift, his eagerness to learn was so similar to Thom’s, Numair had many differences. He was quick witted and enjoyed a laugh, a little sarcastic, but always in a kind way. He was gentle and conscientious. Alanna had come to love him as a friend, as a family member in their household.

“Let’s walk,” she suggested. “If at the end you want to keep on walking, you can do that.”

She had meant for the words to sound soft, caring. They came our harsh enough that Numair winced before agreeing.

She guided him down to the beach in silence. She knew she had to get this just right. Her temper could push him right out the door if she weren’t careful. When her boots began to sink into the sand, she spoke. 

“When I was young, I was afraid of my gift.” Numair looked at her, surprised. “I liked to use my body, to feel the power of my muscles, my control over it. To push myself to my physical limits. My gift... It would slip out all on its own. It controlled _me_ more often than the other way around. I was raised by Coram, who was more than a little frightened of my gift himself. I really wanted nothing to do with it. But then, the sweating sickness hit.”

Numair spoke gently, “Rumour has it there were mages behind that.”

Alanna nodded, staring out to the sea as they strolled the beach, “Yes… I lost a friend. I very nearly lost Jon, which would have been the end of me. And so I embraced my gift. 

“Alanna,” Numair pleaded.

“I’ve not seen you use your gift for more than the most basic requirements to work with Thom.”

“It’s not that simple,” he replied, voice tight. “People want to use me. Use my gift. Showing others my gift takes away any autonomy I have in my life.”

“And then the Gods always want to meddle,” Alanna answered with a wry smile.

“Perhaps.”

“Numair,” Alanna stopped, turning to him and holding his hands in her own. “The only person I trust more than Jon in this world is George. I promise you, Jon would not use you. We will not use you.”

“His majesty’s not the only person in Tortall, Alanna.”

She sighed, “I won’t lie to you and say that there’s no unpleasant people amongst the Tortallan nobles. But those who have the real power? They are my friends. They are good people. You can find a home here, Numair. Friends. People who care about you. George and I, Thom, _we_ care about you. Do you trust me?”

Numair closed his eyes for a long moment before meeting Alanna’s earnest gaze. “I never imagined I’d trust anyone for the remainder of my sorry life. But yes, Alanna, I trust you.”

“Wonderful,” she grinned, wrapping her arm awkwardly around his back, the height difference rather a hindrance. “So let’s go back home, shall we?”

*~*~*~*~*


	4. Jon

Jon grinned as Alanna wrapped him in a warm hug. George clapped him on the back as his wife pulled away and frowned at Jon.

“You look a little worse for wear,” she noted.

“Spent the last few days working out a trade dispute with the Copper Isles. It’s not been easy, unfortunately.”

“Come in and relax a little. I’m glad you could spare the night before heading back to Corus.”

“Well,” Jon said, looking behind Alanna to eye a bouncing red-haired boy, “I can’t pass so nearby without a visit with my favourite godson.”

Thom ran up, stopping abruptly to give a wavering bow before throwing his arms around Jon who crouched down to better receive the hug.

“We’ve a new friend for you to meet as well, Jon. Care to introduce your teacher, Thom?" 

“Yes!” The boy beamed and ran to grab hold of the gangly young man he’d left in the entryway of the keep. Jon smiled softly as the young man, clearly tense, was dragged towards him.

“This is ‘Mair!” Thom said proudly, before giving Numair’s secret away in a whisper, “he _juggles_!”

With a chuckle, Jon said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Numair Salmalin,” Alanna offered.

Numair bowed, with perfect form, if not a little too low for Tortallan customs.

 

At dinner poor Thom was barely able to contain himself. He darted between Jon and Numair, showing off all the tricks that Numair had been teaching him and begging Numair to show off himself.

“I know Alanna wouldn’t let anyone but the best teach my handful of a godson,” Jon noted kindly.

Numair inclined his head modestly. “I don’t know about the best, sire. I was trained at the Imperial University of Carthak.” 

Alanna, for someone who had hidden her true sex over the larger part of eight years had no subtly. She widened her eyes meaningfully at Jon.

“Ah,” Jon replied. “You know, we have been working to set up a university in Corus. We are looking for more educated mages. What level of training have you obtained?” 

Numair’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I am a master of the esoteric, Your Majesty.” 

At this Alanna harrumphed and crossed her arms. Both Jon and George pinned her with a look.

“Impressive, for one so young as yourself. Please, consider if you are interested in joining us.”

Numair nearly choked in response to this. Jon artfully turned to Thom, who was nodding off over his pudding. He scooped the boy up and asked, “How’s a bedtime story from your favourite uncle sound?” 

Thom perked up immediately, “Yes! The one about the Dominion Jewel? Please, please?”

“Sure thing, my boy.”

Jon left the room aware that Alanna and George would do their best to persuade the jumpy young man at the table who was clearly remarkably talented to take the offer. Alanna and George sat in silence as the noise of their son’s happy chatter receded. A brilliant smile spread across their young friend’s visage, flashing white against his brown complexion.

“You have to do it!” Alanna finally burst out.

“I do miss being at the University,” Numair admitted.

George gave a supportive smile and said, “You’d have to tell him the truth, lad.”

“I know,” Numair twirled his fork from finger to finger, a nervous habit.

“Promise you’ll consider it,” Alanna stood, pressing a kiss to Numair’s cheek before walking away.

  

Following breakfast the next morning, Jon was approached by the young man.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed. “I would very much like to be a part of the University in Corus. However… there’s some things I should inform you about. You may want to rescind the offer.”

“Shall we go for a walk?” Jon offered.

A smile of relief graced the young man’s face. “Alanna insisted I go for a walk on the beach with her the other night.”

Jon chuckled, “I’m sure she did. Probably would have made you spar with her if you’d any experience with a sword,” he said fondly. Alanna had always felt some good hard exercise was the cure for any dilemma.

“Sire, would we be able to have some wards around us, first?”

“Certainly,” Jon replied, allowing his deep blue gift to surround them. “I hope you don’t mind that I’d like to walk with my feet in the sea,” Jon added. “Something freeing about it.” 

Numair grinned as the King kicked off his boots and rolled up his trousers, following suite. The young man began with confessing his true identity, trembling a little as he explained that he was wanted by the Emperor of Carthak. 

“I suspected as much,” Jon said gently.

Numair let out a strangled laugh, “George had it figured in about two seconds.”

Jon glanced sidelong at Numair, with a wry smile. “Tortall, as any prudent Kingdom, has eyes and ears throughout the lands. I won’t pretend I don’t know a little of your story. I would, however, very much like to hear it from you. If I can be so bold as to ask?” 

Numair’s eyes widened. Jon suspected he was not used to someone in such a position asking with respect, rather than demanding.

“Yes your majesty,” he stuttered. It took a few minutes for the boy to begin. Once he did, it seemed he couldn’t stop. Jon felt a pang for the young man as he finally trailed off, eyes wet.

“My cousin, Roger, was older than myself. A powerful mage. A charming man. I looked up to him. Trusted him. He killed my mother. Led to my father’s death. Tried to kill me. I understand the damage that broken trust can wreak.” 

“Why-” Numair stumbled over his words, “Why would you tell me that?” 

“Because I would like to be friends.” 

At this Numair stopped outright, frowning intensely. “Your Majesty… You- you need to understand how vengeful Ozorne is. He is truly mad. If I become too visible in Tortall. If- if I work for the university… if I am seen to know George, Alanna, _you_ , Sire… He will pursue me at any cost.”

Jon smiled gently and placed a hand on Numair’s shoulder. “Numair, something my father took pride in- something I daresay I take even _more_ pride in- is that Tortall is a haven for those who need one. The Queen, you may know, is a refugee herself. She hails from Sarain.” 

Numair looked down into the water swirling around his ankles. “I want to be a part of the university more than anything, Sire,” he whispered.

“Then you shall be,” Jon grinned, “I assure you that not only myself, but everyone involved in setting up the school will be delighted to have you. I gather you are, in fact, a black robe mage.”

Numair blushed deeply, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You may take as long as you’d like at Pirate’s Swoop before joining us.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Numair met the King’s eyes, seeming to hope that his immense gratitude could pour right into the other man. 

“You are most welcome, Numair,” Jon said happily. “Welcome home.”

*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff! Thanks for reading :)


End file.
